and it's not the silence that kills us
by all the lost souls
Summary: "he breaks off when he sees the unshed tears glittering in her vexed azure eyes, pleading with him to not say a word. and the next thing he knows, he's shoved against the wall and her lips are on his in a bone-melting kiss." drabble. dedicated to everyone


drabble. for all my ff friends, and everyone else in the Clique fandom. (almost) merry christmas. disclaimed :)

since i've gotten into the habit of doing this, the song for this one-shot, however unrelated, is shake up christmas by train.

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**and it's not the silence that kills us, but the reminiscences of words left unspoken**

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**,**

the doorbell rings, dragging him out of his shaky half-asleep, half-awake state, and he blinks against the darkness, rubbing at his bleary brown eyes.

he stumbles past the large scintillating Christmas tree in the foyer, running a hand through his disheveled hair, wondering who could possibly be wanting to see him this early in the morning.

his hand pauses on the doorknob, and his fingers press down, unlocking it with a silent _click!, _pushing it open using the side of his body.

and there she is, in one of his dress shirts, a pair of shorts and argyle socks, a chilly gust lifting her tousled hair and spilling it onto her face.

the silver locket he'd bought her last year is still dangling from her neck, her fingers interlaced with the thin metal chain.

"Kristen? What the—"

he breaks off when he sees the unshed tears glittering in her vexed azure eyes, pleading with him to not say a word.

and the next thing he knows, he's shoved against the wall and her lips are on his in a bone-melting kiss.

his fingers weave through her hair, melting the ice trapped in it, breathing her in.

she smells like cookie dough and lavender and her vanilla-scented shampoo and all the things he loved most mixed together,

in a perfect recipe of sinuous desire and redemption.

she leans into him, his lips parting against hers, the intensity of their kiss burning through the chilliness of the night.

"i love you" she whispers.

and then the warmth is gone from his hand as she releases it, and he opens his eyes,

but she's gone.

blown away by a gust of wind;

and he's left there by himself, staring into the moonlit night past the pine forest, the snowflakes dancing around him.

the echo of footsteps crackling against the frost resonates in his ears, a sliver of worry edging into his thoughts.

but he brushes it off because this is _kristen gregory_, and where she's concerned,

there was absolutely no point in trying to make sense of her actions,

because she was an enigma to him.

.

_we were so young and invincible._

,

two days later, he's propped up on a chair in the kitchen having breakfast, eyes flicking between the window and the television.

he blinks warily as the newscaster's expression turns forlorn, her pale lips pressing together as an image flashes on the screen;

a girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen,

dressed in a cheerleader's outfit, arms around a brunette and a raven-haired girl's waists, her pale blue eyes smiling at the camera.

and derrick harrington freezes, shock seeping through every muscle in his body, because he _knows _those eyes.

he has memorized every depth of those eyes, the different hues of light and dark mixed together to create the illusion of an ocean,

sometimes calm and composed, other times a gathering storm, hints of tempestuous restlessness leaking through the sheet of ice that made up her almost-perfect composure.

he knew every little secret those eyes ever held in their incomprehensible cerulean zeniths.

he knew the girl hidden beneath them, all her insecurities and quirks.

his coffee mug clatters to the floor, the shattered pieces of ceramic splaying in every direction.

"—and a student at Westchester High, Kristen Gregory, daughter of writer Martha Gregory, was found in a snowdrift last night after being reported missing yesterday. The local authorities are still not sure about—"

but derrick doesn't hear the rest of it because he's got the funny sensation that he's falling.

he can't be sure, because all he sees is her face, her ice blue eyes flickering between sad and taunting, laughing at him, hating him, blaming him for everything.

his knees hit the ground, the pain of the sharp edges of jagged ceramic splicing through his skin shooting through him, drawing blood,

the ghost of her voice whispering in his ear like a black-and-white horror movie stuck on replay.

"i love you."

.

,

fin.

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believe it or not, this actually started out as a happy and cheerful fic, but then morphed into this little brainchild of mine. sorry if it makes no sense. i'm starting to realize that most of my stories don't.

review?

oh, and credits to lisa (crazieness) for the inspiration with the drabble she posted yesterday. i love you :)


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